


A sudden rise in concern

by RatTale



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt Donald Ressler, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Red is a secret darling, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatTale/pseuds/RatTale
Summary: A few instances in which Red feels concern for Donald's well being, and then he realises why.
Relationships: Raymond Reddington/Donald Ressler
Comments: 41
Kudos: 194





	1. Ill

**Author's Note:**

> Short quick one shots of Hurt Donald and concerned Red for the most part. Hopefully I'll keep these boys in character.

“You seem frightfully quiet in your little corner today, Donald. Cat got your tongue? Or are you perhaps trying to prevent yourself from spewing stupidity all across the floor?”

It should have gotten a rise. At the very least brought out that usual cocky, unaffected smile that made Red want to tear his head off at times. But nothing. Donald only spared him a glance before turning back to the screen, waiting further instruction. Red stared at him, glancing briefly at Cooper, who only shrugged as if this was normal for Donald.

It wasn’t. He should, at the very least, be raising concern over their target. A high-profile charity worker. But not even a peep. The sudden rise in concern for his well being was surprising. He didn’t think Donald of all people could inspire it so easily.

Ten minutes later the team headed out, Donald and Liz going for the main target while Red and Dembe headed for their own lead to follow up on. Which was actually the main target, not that the unit had to know that.

A few back and forth interactions with Donald over a phone only raised further concern. He spoke abruptly, short and to the point. Almost selfish with his words and time. It took a rather embarrassingly long time for Red to realise the problem. Donald was ill. Most likely flu, he doubted a cold, Donald would be able to handle a cold. But why the man was still working was beyond him.

“He’s an idiot.” He said to Dembe after making the observation on his sick condition.

Dembe snorted, peering around the corner. “He’s a strong man, sickness makes him feel weak. Rather fight against it than let it beat you.”

Red rolled his eyes, Donald's 'superman' attitude enough to make him want to vomit. “Or get yourself killed.”

Dembe glanced over his shoulder, sparing Red a long hard stare which prompted Red to glare in turn. “What?”

The responding smile sent a spike of anger through him, but Dembe didn't elaborate and instead headed around the building in search of their target. Red leaned against the wall to wait. His friend worked better alone in these sorts of cases. 

Three shots clapped to his left. On instinct Red started towards the sound. He knew it wasn’t Dembe, he'd gone the other way and would be in the basemen by now, but he had to be certain. He came to a stop right at the corner of the building, gun drawn and heart beating slow and hard. He peeked.

Donald.

He was just straightening from the ground. Two men lay prone, neither moved. Donald's body swayed suddenly and instinct sent Red towards him with barely a conscious thought.

Red grabbed him a scant moment before his legs gave out. Donald started slightly, but couldn’t find the strength to pull away. He flailed a little, “M’fine. Le' go”

“You are not 'fine;'.” He helped him to the ground and propped Donald up against the wall. He was pale with red blooming on his cheeks, his limbs were shaking and his face was soaked in sweat, “You are ill, one might even say ailing. Why are you out in the field?”

Donald shrugged, “M’job.”

Shaking his head, Red pressed a hand to his forehead and felt his heart jump. “Your fever is extremely high, Donald. Dembe will be here soon to get you to a hospital.”

“Got em.” Donald muttered.

“What?”

He turned a glassy stare to the man lying face down on the dirt, cuffed and dead to the world. “Got em.”

Red stared, eyes narrowing and mouth slightly open.

Donald’s loyalty had always been a point of admiration for Red. But sometimes, sometimes it could surprise him. The sheer lengths, the sacrifices he was always willing to make without thought or expectation. He wondered if the FBI knew what they had in this man. Red slid his hand over his forehead to rest against his cheek. “You always do, Agent Ressler.”

Donald smiled and Red found himself smiling back.


	2. Migraine

“Finding Milov will take time,” said Aram who was already clapping away at the keyboard, “I’ll have to search and cross references with everything what we have.” Aram glanced up, a nervous smiling flitting over his face. “You can wait?”

Red instantly laughed, ready to say no. He hated the damned Post Office. It was such a stuffy restrictive place. 

But then Donald caught his eye. After Aram’s question he immediately turned to head for the bathroom, and Red’s answer got stuck somewhere in his throat. Even from a distance he noted the stiff shoulders, the bowed head and stiff walk.

The spike of concern made him change his mind before he could think. “I suppose waiting in this hell-hole as a free man could be a novel experience.” he could feel Dembe staring at him. 

Only when the group dispersed did he turn around to him to explain his reasoning, only to snap his mouth shut instantly. Dembe was holding out a small bottle of pills and smiling. “Ressler has a migraine.”

Red stared, “And this fact is supposed to impact me in some way?”

“You’re concerned.”

Red laughed, open and light, “I’m most certainly not concerned about Agent Ressler in any way.” He glanced at the bathroom, “But I will concede that the man does look absolutely dreadful.”

“Then go and give him the pills.” Dembe grabbed Red’s hand and slapped the bottle into his palm, closing his fingers around it. “He’s in his office.”

Dembe was one of the few men who could honestly throw Red for a loop. The man had a way about him sometimes, assumptions based on instincts Red could never fully understand. Not that this fact stopped Red from confronting the man. Holding up the pills, Red asked, daring and angry “If you’re so concerned about him, why aren’t you delivering these to him yourself?”

Dembe only grinned, sending a mix of surprise and anger through Red. “I’ll go get us some coffee.” And he left before Red could say another word.

He should drop the pills on the table and leave. The audacity of the man was sometimes enough to make Red want to shoot something. But he didn’t do that. Instead he found himself slowly ascending the stairs and heading for Donald’s office. If Donald’s migraines were anything like Dembe’s then he’d need some help.

He found him behind his computer, face down on the desk, breathing slow and deep. Red turned off the lights and moved closer. Donald’s eyes were tightly shut. His arms draped around him like a sort of fortress to keep him safe.

He looked even worse up-close. Red placed the small bottle on the table, “Drink these Agent Ressler. They might help.”

Donald cracked open his eyes and focused on the bottle with some effort. His eyes went tight shut, “No,” he said and turned his head away, “Can’t drink it.”

Red sat on the edge of the table, “And why not?”

He heard him swallow “Was addicted to em… can’t do it again.”

Red frowned lightly. A moment of weakness was a lifetime of shame, at least for Donald. He didn’t doubt that his addiction made him feel inadequate and small. Perhaps even pathetic. The man drew his mistakes close to his chest, allowing them to burn him up from inside out. There was never a need to reprimand Donald, he did it well enough on his own.

“You can’t take more if I have the bottle. And one pill won’t let you spiral, Donald.” Without much thought Red reached out to run a hand through his hair. The motion usually helped Dembe, who often asked Red to stroke his head or back. Donald’s hair was soft, and supple and the prompted a soft satisfied moan from the pained agent. “Besides, you can’t stay like this the whole day. We have a Blacklister to catch.”

Donald hummed, but didn’t move. Smiling again for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, Red stroked him a few more times before lifting his hand. The action prompted broken groan, which only made Red smile a little wider, “Drink.”

With a final groan Donald lifted his head and did as he was told. Popping the pill, he downed it with some nearby water before collapsing backwards into his chair. Red quietly resisted the urge to straighten his hair again.


	3. Cracked

They just had to stick in their self-righteous noses.

Red had told them to hang back, to keep a distance. But of course, the FBI only listened when it damn well suited them.

“Let me see.”

“I am _fine_.” He said through grit teeth, stepping away.

Red rolled his eyes and moved closer. “If I had a penny for every time you’ve said that Donald, I would most likely need another Swiss bank account. Now, let _me_ _see_.”

Donald glared, but would not move his arm where it was wrapped around his mid-section. He was breathing heavily, his face scratched up and bruised where the brute had swung in a few lucky punches.

Fed-up, tired and at his bloody rope’s end, Red grabbed his arm. Donald tried to pull away, but instantly winced at the motion. “Let _go_.”

Red’s grip softened, but he did not remove his hand. “Donald, he struck you with a baseball bat, quite hard by the look of things. By my guess you have at the very least cracked ribs. If they are broken, we need to make sure that they haven’t punctured any of your organs.”

They were miles away from a hospital. The wilderness stood around them, thick and foreboding. But the quicker they acted, the more likely Donald would have a chance at surviving. After some pause, Donald finally relented and slowly dropped his arm from his side. Taking that as consent, Red reached out.

Donald winced the second his fingers filtered over the bruises. For a moment Red paused, raising his eyes briefly to gauge Donald’s expression. His eyes were shut, his face lax as he took slow breaths. Taking care not to cause him more pain Red let his fingers brush up and down Donald’s sides trying to asses the damage. “They’re cracked,” he said after a moment.

Donald smiled and opened his eyes, “Good to know.”

“Perhaps the wound will ensure you dodge better the next time around.” Donald shook his head and huffed a rough laugh, the breath puffing over Red’s face. He blinked, they were standing quite close, their chests almost touching, his own hand still warm and gentle over Donald’s ribs, nestled under his jacket.

Quickly dropping his hands, he stepped back. “You’ll have an abominable time for a fortnight, but you should be right as rain soon enough.”

Red hastily turned towards the road. They would have to find transport, perhaps Dembe was already on his way, otherwise they would have to find another way to get out of this damned forest. A firm hand touched his shoulder. Stopping in his tracks, Red only turned to acknowledge not to look.

“Just wanna say thanks.” Donald offered, soft and kind and sincere. The words rippled over him, warm and sweet.

No smart remark was forthcoming, so Red only nodded and headed for the road. The memory of Donald’s hand burning through his jacket and into his skin.


	4. Mistake

A meeting was set-up with a man called Faust, a peculiar man of ill repute and dangerous friends. Red had sent Lizzie to another location. His dear girl currently refused to speak to him over a small disagreement earlier that week and so she was flying solo.

Or she would be if Red hadn't had to send Dembe with her. As fate decided to toy with them this week, Donald and Lizzie were _also_ having a slight disagreement. Which involved apparently keeping a juicy secret about her past.

“So just how livid is she with you?”

“Drop it, Red.”

“I’m just curious how it’s at all possible for her to become chagrinned with a man she holds in such high standing. Especially over such a petty squabble.”

Donald sighed, his entire demeanor sagging under the wave of depression, “Not petty.” he yanked open the door, the metal clapping inside the almost empty factory, “I kept it from her, she has every right to be angry.”

“I’ve kept many a truth from her, Donald. She has grown accustomed to it.”

He smiled, tight and self-deprecating, “Exactly.”

Red stopped in the doorway turning to actually look at him. He’d always known in an off-hand sort of way that Donald liked to be honest. That inside that outer shell of iron and anger was a heart, touched by taint but always willing to give gold to everyone it could reach out to. He strived to be of service, to help others. To never let anyone down.

For some reason Red started to laugh, “Are you always so determined not to disappoint _anyone_?”

He half expected a smart-ass comment, a smirk and a snarky ‘Are you always so determined to disappoint _everyone_?’ But instead his answer was a downward shift in his gaze and a soft, “Yeah.”

The word pooled inside him, gentle and soft to smother the forming sarcasm and pull out an honest response. He reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Strong and firm and warm, “She will not be angry for long.” He hesitated, but the words seemed to form on their own, “You have a serious advantage.”

“And that is?”

“A very kissable face.”

Donald laughed, rough and sudden and beautiful. “You know it.”

_I do_ . Red didn’t say that, he just laughed and walked through the door. But his head was spinning, his heart was pounding his mind barely wrapping around the revelation. _I know it_ , he thought, _because I want to kiss you_.

Red tried to keep his shock from showing.

* * *

“You knew!” Red was standing in the Living room, a forgotten glass of wine in his hand. “How could you know when I didn’t even know?”

Dembe laughed shrugging as he stirred the broth, “Was that day he was sick.”

“When he had the flu?” he thought back briefly, running the whole scenario through his head, “I'd only expressed concern!”

Dembe only shook his head, wiping his hand clean with a towel he turned a soft smile on Red, which only served to annoy him further. But he kept his peace for the moment, “It was when I told you he was strong, he was a man who did not suffer weakness. You did not understand the reasoning, you were angry at him for putting himself in danger. You were thinking with the heart not your head.”

Red could feel his face slacken with surprise.

“You wanted him to be safe, and ever since then you smile differently when he’s around.”

Taking a step back he collapsed into his chair, and placed the wine on the small table to interlink his hand and stare at the floor. “That was over two months ago. It’s been that long?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to bring this to my attention? So that I might temper it a little?”

“No.”

Red _stared_ at him. “Dembe. I would have hoped you, of all people, would have the sense to dissuade me from this.” He laughed, “Nothing can nor will come of this!”

Dembe shrugged. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh... for the _love_.... of _God_!” he stood, almost tempted to kick the coffee table, “You are living out your romantic notions through me! I have no wish, want or desire to be in a relationship with Donald Ressler! And I am quite certain neither does he!”

Dembe smiled again, that same smarmy, smug smile he wore when he had a smart-ass answer. But Red would not be drawn in, would not be convinced. He damn well doubted the man had any sort of answer in any case. “You forget, Raymond. I see his smiles too.”

Red had to remind himself why he couldn’t shoot him_,_ “I don’t give a damn about his smiles, and I don’t care for yours either!” and he stormed out, angry and furious. A crush on Donald Ressler of all people, what a pathetic state of affairs! If he was lucky the irksome emotion would fade into oblivion soon enough.

But in the quiet dark of his room, laid out on his bed, Red desperately tried to smother the warmth of happiness he felt at the thought that Ressler might want to be with him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this one is a little OOC. Red is hard to write >_<
> 
> Thanks for all the support guys! I had to add one more chapter to wrap things up well.


	5. Hypothermia

He decided that keeping a hard, cold and above all firm distance would be the best course of action. No matter what Dembe might think, no matter how many times he said ‘It’ does you good.’ Red would not and could not allow such a pathetic thing to break down his walls.

There was no room in his life for such an indulgence. It would pass. So he cut him off, sneered and belittled and took every opportunity to make Agent Ressler understand there was no place for him anywhere near Red. And if Ressler became a little distant, if his interactions became a little more reserved, then all the better for it.

But then Donald, like he was, just had to go and do something stupid again.

Like dive into the freezing ocean to save someone. Of course, he would.

It’s not as if Donald _wouldn’t_ risk his life for someone he barely knew. The man was wired like that. To push a man out of the path of an incoming train. To grab the girl before she hit the concrete. To put himself between a bullet and whoever was standing behind him.

But diving off a cliff would be a new one for the record.

Red had to make a note to buy him a blue shirt and red cape for his birthday.

The barely conscious woman had been stranded on a small rock in the middle of a storm. The choppers couldn’t reach her, the small rescue team was still a good hour out and the water kept rising.

Before anyone could think up a _safe_ plan, Donald had grabbed the rope, tied it around his waist and jumped. Lizzie’s “Ressler, no!” following him down the cliff and straight into the water. Red’s heart had completely stopped. His own voice lost in somewhere in his throat. His concern almost turning into sheer panic when full realisation dawned. He could die.

The shock nearly made him react. Nearly made him call out, nearly made him yell at someone to _do something_. Nearly made him jump after him. His rigid self-control did not allow it.

By some miracle the man had managed to miss the rocks, had struggled his way through the currents towards the woman and through the pounding waves, had tied the rope around them both.

Lizzie, along with the rest of their team had hauled them up and over the lip, where Donald and the girl collapsed, shaking and freezing from the icy water.

The relief was instantaneous, and Red had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for Donald, to feel him firm and warm beneath his hands.

Damn it all.

Red stood back and watched Donald giving orders to his men. Still going, always going no matter the hurdle. It was always admirable. But he could see the cracks in the man’s façade. The slight shaking of his hands, the light blue tint to his lips. Red had to shake his head to disperse another bout of concern, “Stubborn bastard.”

Part of him wanted to ignore him. It was his current plan after all, create some distance and allow the horrible crush to die. But then again, he couldn’t very well let the man die from hypothermia. He was at the very least, useful.

“Donald, a word.”

Still shivering he only spared him a quick glance over his shoulder, “A little busy, Red.”

“I’m sure your lackey’s can handle it, it’s quite urgent.”

Donald stared at him, back at his men, clearly hesitating.

“We can handle it sir!” and that seemed to be enough. He nodded, clearly too tired to argue, which only cemented Red’s concern. Guiding him away from the bustle he took him to the back of the Ambulance, which stood open, but empty as the paramedics were still helping the other victims.

“What do you want?”

Red turned, grabbed him firmly by the shirt and pushed-pulled him down onto the step. The lack of resistance only serving to worry him further. “Remove your shirt.”

“What the _hell_, Reddington?”

“You are on the verge of hypothermia.” He said, already reaching for one of the blankets, “If we don’t warm you up, we might have to get you to hospital.” He held up the blanket, “Now remove your shirt.”

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake,” Donald said, and stood, “Drop the crap. You don’t give a shit, Red. I’ll be fine –“

Again, Red easily pushed him back down, Donald collapsed and remained seated. “Whether I care or not does not matter. You are, as always, being a stubborn fool and I will not stand by and let a man die because he doesn’t know his own limits.”

For a good long moment Donald remained silent. His stony calm expression giving no clue as to what he might be thinking. But then the gaze softened, almost saddened and he slowly started on the buttons of his shirt. His fingers were trembling so much he could barely get a grip on the slick plastic. His hands dropped with a heavy sigh and Red stepped in without a word.

He made quick work of the buttons, and without really thinking slid his hands under the shirt to slide it off his shoulders. The second his hands brushed against the cold skin, his heart jumped and his body rushed with heat. Red blinked, too shocked to do much of else.

“Red?”

He was standing between Donald’s legs, his hands under his shirt and all he wanted to do was push him down into the floor of the Ambulance and –

He pushed down the shirt and removed his trembling hands. Donald quietly pulled his arms out of the soaked sleeves, still trembling and shaking against the cold. Red wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, making sure not to make contact again, but his hands couldn’t help but linger a little over the strong arms and shoulders. So easy, it would be so easy just to lean in and – “There,” he said quickly, forcing himself to step away, “Now you won’t die before you return to the office.” turning to leave he was stopped by Donald’s hand, soft and gentle on his arm.

“Why have you been pushing me away?” the question, much like the touch, was soft and laced with uncertainty. The pool of warmth mixed with surprise rippled over him, making him hesitate for the briefest of moments. The hand tightened a little, “I thought we were... I don’t know, we were somehow...” he trailed off, his eyes hopeful and for another full moment Red couldn’t breathe.

Donald reciprocated.

_I see his smiles too._

And Red started to laugh, dispersing the sudden rise of emotion into nothing, throwing the sincere question back at Donald with nary a thought. Beating any reaction into oblivion, ensuring it won’t compromise him now. “I created the distance Agent Ressler_,_ for your benefit. I had hoped to spare you the embarrassment of rejection, but it seems you truly are a glutton for punishment. So let me spell it out for you -”

The hand quickly fell away, “You don’t have to -”

“You mean _nothing_ to me.” the words cut him open, blood spilling out to fill up his insides. But he leaned down a little to be eye-level, to make sure he understood, “You are at best a nuisance, a by-the-books, unimaginative boy-scout who could barely keep up with me. You hold no interest for me. The _only_ reason I’ve helped you is because, despite your incompetence, you are at the very least a useful tool. One I can utilize but which can easily be replaced should it break.” he smiled, hard and fierce, “And I suggest you stop trying to kill yourself and start taking care of yourself, because if you do break my _dear_ Donald, I sure as hell won’t care. Are we clear?”

Donald’s expression was pure stone, “Crystal.”

Red smiled, “Excellent! I’ll see you at the Post Office then. Good day to you, Donald.” and he left. He walked through the sudden bout of rain, his shoes squelching in the thick muck. He kept walking, despite every step feeling like a punch to the gut. Despite every nerve in his body begging him to turn around. Red kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red can be a bit of a hard-ass, but he's such a sweety on the inside. 
> 
> Probably not how Hypothermia works, but hey, that's why it's called fiction XD


	6. Stabbed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd hoped to finish up the story with this entry, but it went in a slightly different direction. But next chapter is in the works and WILL be the final one :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking around!

For the next few weeks Red kept a safe distance from Donald. He made sure to work directly with Lizzie, and had Dembe screen all calls coming in from the Post Office before taking them. Dembe seemed a little disappointed maybe even a little angry, but Red refrained from commenting and Dembe thankfully did not broach the subject.

He knew just as well as Red that it was for the best. Nothing good could come of it, no matter how hard his friend wished otherwise.

When he did finally see him again it was by chance. The FBI had, for once, been a little quicker than usual and had arrived with Red at the small dock-side cabin. The cabin had been littered with vagrants. Drugged up or no, they were still quite accurate with a handgun. Two of the FBI’s unit had been badly injured. As for Donald, he was, as always at the front line, quick and fiery and fierce.

And to Red he was professional. Distant yet cordial, as if nothing had ever happened.

If Red felt a stab of anger at the dismissal, he ignored it point blank. His heart could now start to behave again, it just needed a little time.

“Looks like we’re still doing your dirty work.” Said Donald, watching the ambulance turn the corner and out of sight. 

“If by dirty work you mean cleaning up the FBI’s messes, then yes Agent Ressler you are.”

Donald only shook his head and turned away from the window, the lack of smile the only real evidence something was still upsetting him. That somehow appeased Red a little.

“Have we finished with the rest of the house?” Red heard Donald ask he made for the exit. Dembe was waiting in the car, it was time to go.

“Yessir! Ground, first and second floor checked and cleared!”

“Good, means we can get out of here.”

Red paused.

“And the cellar?”

Donald turned to stare at him, but Red was completely unphased by the hard glare, “There is such a thing,  Agent Ressler and it’s right over there, peeking out from under the rug. I am surprised that so many people missed it. Is your eyesight failing you?”

His only response was an eyeroll before Donald headed for the trapdoor. He grabbed the handle, “We’ll check the basement and then head-out.”

It happened too fast, he had to keep telling himself that. Donald had barely lifted the door when it was flung open further by the hobo, the jagged knife already striking down towards Donald’s chest. It slammed into the vest and instantly three shots fired, killing the man before he hit the ground.

“Sir!” called one of the men, moving towards Donald along with Red. “Are you alright, sir?”

For a full moment Red wasn’t worried. The amount of Kevlar the blade had to strike through to actually reach  him was quite substantial.

But then Donald collapsed backwards to hit the ground, his face growing pale, eyes wide and pained looking at the hilt sticking up from his chest in pure shock. His hand reached for it, and Red moved on instinct.

“Don’t!” he knelt down and grabbed Donald’s wrist, stopping him just in time, “Don’t, it’s serrated, you’ll only do more damage.” There wasn’t any blood that he could see, internal bleeding then, nothing they could do. They had to get him to a hospital.

“Fuck!” Donald gasped. “It fucking _hurts_!”

Behind him someone was calling an ambulance. Red placed a hand on his cheek, unable to stop himself from trying to sooth his wounded agent. His own heart was racing, ramming against his chest as the slither of fear cut through him. “It’s alright. It’s alright. Just focus on me, don’t speak, and just look at me.”

Donald did so, his breath short and shallow, eyes wide and glassy. The look made his chest tighten with worry to burn right into his core. He needed to ground himself  and so Red let his other hand slide down and into Donald’s. After a moment his hand was squeezed weakly. “Brings b-back memories.”

“Shh, shh.” Red soothed, “You shouldn’t speak.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, a pained smile pulling across his face, “Even back then, you said...”

“Donald...”

“... said you save the person in front of you.” Red watched him wince from pain, his hand tightening against the wave of agony. Red had never wished more than in that moment to help him. To ease his suffering, to make his pain stop. His eyes suddenly stung.

“This time is no different.” He offered, empty and worthless. There was nothing he could do.

Donald laughed, wincing around the huffs, “Yeah, j-just what you do. Save the ma-n in front of you.” He licked his lips, coated in blood, “Doesn’t mean anything. Don’t know why I thought your concern _meant_ anything.”

Words failed him. A wash of horrible regret nearly tipping him right over the edge right there and then. Nothing he said now could fix it. But it surprised him how desperately he wanted to, how severely he wished to give Donald exactly what he wanted. To give in completely and reach down and cradle him close, kiss him until they were both breathless.

_It meant everything,_ he wanted to say – he wanted to _yell__ – _but refrained, knowing it would make no difference. This was not the time nor place. All he could do for now was hold his hand, gently pull it close to his chest, and let his other hand stroke through his hair which had turned slick with sweat. Donald’s breath hitched against the pain, his body tightening with another wave. He’d turned frightfully pale.

“You survived then,” Red finally said, soft yet certain, “And you will survive this.”

Donald stared at him, his gaze hooded, his body wincing through pained breaths, “I think, this time, I broke, Red.” and his eyes dimmed and Red felt something lurch inside of him. But before he could crumble or panic or do anything, paramedics were there to chase him away, to lift Donald onto a gurney and whisk him to hospital.


	7. Recovery

He followed the gurney outside, unable to be too far away from Donald. His hands itched to reach out and sooth, and his heart ached to spill every secret he’d denied him till now. The paramedics shouted back and forth as they fought to keep him alive. Quick and efficient they loaded him up, the doors slamming shut before Red could follow them inside.

And there was Dembe, watching him, eyes concerned and too soft, only serving to make Red’s throat _tighten_. His hands curled into fists in his coat pocket. There wasn’t a drop of blood on them, but they may as well have been soaked in it. He walked past Dembe towards the car, “Follow the Ambulance.”

“Of course.” There was no further inquiry needed.

The hospital felt empty.

Outside the waiting room there were doctors and nurses, moving and talking, and somehow it still felt empty. Beside him sat Dembe, quiet and stoic, the only other person in the room.

“He’s strong.” Dembe ventured, “He might still survive.”

“And he might not.”

His friend looked at him, “This frightens you.”

A sudden burst of energy forced him to stand, making him shake with suppressed anger, “Does it matter? If he dies, it will only mark another tragedy on this damned road.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

Red stopped to stare at Dembe. But his expression was soft and understanding. Red’s hands uncurled; his shoulder sagged.

Dembe stood and came to stand in front of him, pla cing a firm hand on his shoulder “For the longest time, you’ve shut yourself away. After Liz’s betrayal and by extension mine, I believe you struggle to truly trust anyone anymore.”

The hand moved to settled around his neck, comforting and gentle. “And  then  Donald Ressler came along. Chipping away at your armour with barely any effort, to help you smile again. With no wall to separate the trust and joy.”

Red shut his eyes, trying to hide the rise of emotion. “Dembe…”

Dembe moved his hand up to his jaw, tilting his face upwards. “He is  _good_ for you Red.”

The emotion finally overwhelmed him and he bowed his face down and away, breathing hard, and allowing Dembe to pull him close to his chest.

* * *

Donald would make it out of surgery, but the damage to his chest was extensive. By some stroke of luck, the blade had missed his heart and instead punctured one of his lungs. Still a lot of damage, but with a far greater chance of survival.

Red would not visit him. When the doctor confirmed he was stable, he left with a quiet Dembe on his heels. Staying was a risk, police and authorities were swarming the place, taking great pride in keeping the agent safe from potential threats. Even if Red wanted to stay, he couldn’t. And if a voice told him this was a convenient excuse to avoid seeing Donald in such a horrible state, he ignored it.

The days trudged by, and Red found himself restless. Often pacing, often drifting off, barely able to focus on what he was supposed to do. Dembe’s silent support was a constant, and a presence he knew he would not have been able to do without. It served to soften the rising waves of painful regret.

On the third day he finally cracked and asked Dembe for the phone. His heart tight, almost too afraid to ask.

Donald’s condition was unchanged. Stable, but unchanged. Restless and desperate to clear his head, Red’s thoughts pulled him across town straight to Donald’s apartment. Not exactly where he wanted to be, but somehow enough.

He looked through his albums, his books and DvD’s. Simply enjoying learning about him in such a small capacity. The guitar intrigued him, and Red wondered if Donald still played.

On the fifth day he finally woke up and Red’s world balanced out again. A wonderful burden had lifted from his shoulders, a relief almost tangible rippled through him to make him collapse in a nearby chair.

According to the doctor he would remain in hospital for at least another week to help his recovery. Red promised himself to visit, just as soon as he could think up the words to fix the whole damned mess. Uncertainty still sat heavy in his chest, but the whole crisis had brought in to focus just how much Donald meant to him. In particular how much he truly _liked_ Donald. For his strength, his selfless nature, his bravery and kindness. Above it all he somehow adored him for his honesty and sense of morality. Serving as a breath of fresh air in the stink of deception his world always seemed to perpetuate.

He promised himself to visit as soon as he found the words.

Which is why Red nearly jumped out of skin two days later when the door to Donald’s apartment opened and said Agent walked in.

He looked haggard, drawn and tired. For a long time, Donald stood in the doorway, his shoulders sagged and eyes belying an exhaustion Red knew only too well.

Donald looked up, and came to a complete stop, his eyes wide and focused on Red.

“You’re home early.” Red ventured, completely unsure how to handle the situation. Dembe had left a little earlier, leaving him a phone as means to contact him when he was done. Red quietly wished the man was here, if only to break the sudden spike in tension.

Donald for his part remained stoic, dropping his keys on the table he said, “I wanted to get home. Just tired of the hospital. If I take it easy, I’ll be fine.” He hesitated, “What are you doing here?”

Red really had no answer ready, nothing to offer. Seeing him now had cut through so many walls he didn’t know how to erect them again without drawing attention to the fact. So he managed a quick smile and shrugged, “You have an excellent view.”

“Fine,” Donald said, clearly fed-up, “But can you leave now? I’d like to get some rest.”

He’d just passed Red to head for the bedroom, and like a magnet Red’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist to turn him towards him. Donald paused. His expression curious, but also wary. He had no idea what to say, all words he had to offer felt completely empty, only worthless things to throw at his feet. Swallowing hard he finally asked the only question that really mattered, “How are you feeling, Donald?”

Donald looked away, his gaze flitting over the floor and walls. He smiled faintly, “As good as can be, all things considered.”

“I’m glad.”

Instantly the smile faded. “Right. You don’t have to replace your tool.”

The words were said with a shield of nonchalance, only to crumble to nothing under any sort of scrutiny to reveal the bitterness behind them. Which only served to make Red feel the inevitable pull, the quiet desperate part of his soul begging him to reach out. “Donald, I -”

“Don’t, Red.” He took two steps away from him, stopped, turned back and raised his arms, at a loss, “You got your reasons for being here, fine. It aint the reasons I want, and that’s that. But being here only makes me think something can happen, which is kinda fucked up. And I’ve thought allotta things about you over the years, but cruel? That's never been one. So either tell me why you’re here, or fuck off.” Donald sat down on the arm of the couch, “Cause I gotta tell ya, I can’t keep doing this.”

And Red couldn’t either. In a few short steps he went right up to him, to crowd in right between his legs. Donald looked at him, a rise of surprise and hope tainted by uncertainty and doubt. Red reached down to cradle his face, and then he leaned down and kissed him.

Warm, soft, wonderful was all he could think. He tilted his head a little to fit their lips together a little better and Donald finally shifted, moving his lips against his, letting a soft groan slip out without his consent. Red pressed a little closer and Donald’s hands slipped over his hips, holding him close, pinning him where he never wanted to leave.

When they parted Donald was breathing a little hard, his eyes wide and a faint blush on his cheeks. Red stroked his hand down his neck and back up to his hair, “Would you like some dinner?”

Donald blinked, “What?”

“Dinner, Donald. Sustenance,” He slid his hands over his shoulders, and linked them behind his neck, “I know how to make the loveliest Chicken ala King, which Dembe has even complimented as being delicious. And I assure you, coming from him that can be considered as a five-star rating.”

For a long moment Donald only stared, his hands still awkwardly resting over Red’s waist, “The doctor said I’m not allowed any rigorous activity for at least two weeks.”

Red burst out laughing, “We don’t have to go that far on the first date.” He pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, “And I’m patient.”

“This is…” Donald touched his arms, almost as if to push him away, but instead his fingers slipped over his wrists, holding him tight, “What you said, at the cliff….”

His voice cracked, and Red watched him for a moment before sliding his right hand out from under his grip to rest over the wound on his chest. Beneath his hand Donald’s heart beat strong and steady, “A fool’s attempt to postpone the inevitable. I’m sorry Donald. I believe I feared losing you as much I as did being with you. But I am here now, willing to help keep your reckless self safe, if you still want me.”

Quietly, almost carefully, Donald’s hand slid down his arms and to his sides, wrapping around his waist again. Red watched him swallow, his eyes flitting down before saying, “Only if you’re sure.”

And there it was, the greatest reason he fell for with him. Donald’s trust in his skills and abilities was solid, but that trust did not stretch to his own self-worth. Despite his bravado, strength, bravery and kindness, deep inside was a man desperate to be good enough. To prove himself, hungry for a chance to show that he had worth. Red wanted him to show him that he had, in so many ways.

“I am,” he replied, “And I am sorry if I ever made you doubt that. But I will start by making it up with an excellent dinner. Any other requests I can grant?”

And finally Donald smiled, which made Red’s heart jump, “Just another kiss.”

Red pressed a little closer, “As many as you want, my dear Donald.” he said, leaning in quick and brief to press a wonderful kiss to his mouth.

He wouldn’t get a chance that night to make dinner. But then again, there would be many other dates in the hopefully near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Yay!
> 
> I hope it ended well enough for everyone! Thanks sooo much for reading this little fic ^_^


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